American GI - My father

In 1995, I met my father for the first time. I was twenty-five years old. For most of my life, I believed he was dead, and only hoped to one day meet my grandparents. After five years of searching, writing letters and phone calls, I discovered he was still alive and living in San Antonio, TX.

To say that I feared the ultimate rejection, would be the biggest understatement of my life. I was terrified to think that he may not want to know me, see me or even talk to me. We began a written correspondence for several months until finally, we agreed it was time to meet. I lived in Los Angeles and flew out to San Antonio. The moment I saw him I felt I was looking into my own eyes. Meeting him was like reuniting with an old, lost friend.

We spent three days together talking, walking and sharing our lives. The experience was filled with complete happiness and tremendous pain. We were thrilled to meet each other, but saddened by the fact that such unfortunate circumstances kept us apart for so many years. He was deeply scarred by the Vietnam War and struggled daily to come to peace with it. We became close friends and stayed in close contact.

One year to the week after we met, my father was killed in an automobile accident.

At the time, it was unconceiveable that he could be taken away after so many years of searching and separation. But I have since come to terms with his passing. We are blessed to have known each other even for a brief time.

He continues to me a very strong force within me. I am incredibly fortunate to have known him. I respect him and love him dearly.

To those who are searching, wondering, please don't give up.